The street was quiet when Ethan Vale turned the final corner leading to his apartment building. His backpack felt heavier than usual, stuffed with repair tools, the pendrive fully loaded with Apocalypse's data, and the satisfaction of his first honest paycheck still warming his pocket.
After a long day — school, the field trip, recovering Apocalypse's files, and five hours of part-time work — all Ethan wanted was to fall face-first into his bed.
But the moment he approached the entrance, he slowed to a stop.
A man in a charcoal-gray suit stood under the flickering streetlight, his posture too formal and too out-of-place for this neighborhood. He checked his watch for what looked like the tenth time, muttering under his breath.
Ethan hesitated.
Was this guy lost?
The man suddenly looked up, eyes sharpening with recognition.
"Ah. You must be Ethan Vale?"
Ethan's shoulders stiffened. "Yeah… why?"
The man stepped forward with a polite but tired smile.
"My name is Jonathan Aldridge, attorney at law. I represent the Vale family estate. I'm here regarding a matter of inheritance."
The world seemed to slow.
The last word echoed in Ethan's mind.
Inheritance.
A word he had never expected to hear at fifteen.
He forced himself to speak. "Inheritance… from who?"
Mr. Aldridge's expression softened. "From your parents, Ethan."
A familiar ache twisted inside Ethan's chest — that dull, heavy pain he tried so hard to keep buried.
"I—I don't understand," Ethan muttered, voice wavering. "My parents didn't… they didn't leave anything. They barely had time. They were—"
"I know," the lawyer interrupted gently. "But it seems they made preparations earlier than anyone realized."
He opened his briefcase and retrieved a sealed envelope, handing it over with both hands, as if passing something fragile.
"This contains the deed, transfer documents, and a personal letter. Ethan… your parents purchased a house. Three blocks from here."
Ethan's breath hitched.
A house?
His parents?
Buying a house?
Mr. Aldridge continued, "It appears they finalized the purchase a week before their… accident. They had not yet moved in, and they likely intended to surprise you once everything was settled."
Ethan stared at the envelope, unable to move.
Three blocks away.
They bought a home for them.
For him.
And they never got to tell him.
He swallowed, throat burning. "A-Are you sure this is real? That it wasn't meant for—"
"You," Aldridge said firmly. "You are their sole heir. Everything was in order. They even left instructions to transfer the property to you when you turned sixteen… or earlier, if circumstances required."
Ethan clenched the envelope tightly so it wouldn't shake.
"So it's mine… now?"
"Yes. As of today, the house legally belongs to Ethan Vale, age fifteen."
Hearing it out loud made something inside him crack.
A home.
A real home.
Something his parents wanted him to have — something they had chosen with hopes and futures in mind.
He blinked rapidly, but a tear escaped anyway.
The lawyer pretended not to see.
"There is something else," Mr. Aldridge said gently, pulling out a second envelope — much smaller, handwritten, with edges slightly worn.
"This was left by your father. His instructions were that it be delivered to you once you reached fifteen… or when you inherited the property. Whichever came first."
Ethan took it slowly.
His father's handwriting.
Bold.
Neat.
Strong.
His fingers trembled as he traced the letters of his name:
To Ethan. From Dad.
He bit his lip hard to keep it together.
Mr. Aldridge closed his briefcase. "Inside the first envelope, you'll find my card. Call me if you need help with utilities, title confirmation, or anything else related to the house."
Ethan nodded silently.
The lawyer took a step back. "Your parents were remarkable people. Their last wishes were clearly centered on your well-being. They cared for you deeply."
Ethan tried to speak, but no sound came out.
So he simply nodded again, this time tighter.
Mr. Aldridge gave a final, respectful bow. "Take care, Ethan Vale. And… congratulations, though I know this must be bittersweet."
With that, he walked down the quiet street, disappearing into the night.
Ethan stood alone, two envelopes in hand.
The street felt colder now.
The night quieter.
Slowly, almost mechanically, Ethan walked toward the steps of his apartment building and sat down, staring at the keys shining dull silver inside the envelope.
His parents bought him a house.
Their first big surprise.
Their final one.
He inhaled shakily.
He wasn't ready to open the letter.He wasn't brave enough yet.
But he would be.
Just… not tonight.
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, took a deep breath, and stood up.
Tomorrow, he decided.
Tomorrow he would go see the house — their last gift to him.
Tomorrow he would open the door they never got to show him.
For now, he walked inside his apartment building, holding the envelopes tightly against his chest, as if they were the most precious things he owned.
Because they were.
A dim sliver of morning sunlight pierced through Ethan's curtains, landing directly across his eyes. He groaned, shifting in bed — until something stiff crinkled against his chest.
He froze.
The envelope.
The one with his father's handwriting.
Yesterday's events rushed back like a tidal wave — the lawyer, the house, the inheritance he never expected, the words he couldn't fully process.
Ethan sat up slowly, holding the envelope in trembling hands.
He had fallen asleep clutching it.
For a moment, he simply stared at the familiar handwriting.Bold. Steady. Confident.
Even after all this time, it looked exactly as he remembered.
A sharp ache spread through his chest.
"Dad…" he whispered. "I'm not sure I can do this."
But another part of him — the part that had survived everything — knew he needed to.
He carefully ripped the seal open.
Inside, he found a folded letter. The paper smelled faintly of cologne and old filing cabinets… yet somehow, strangely, it still felt like home.
He unfolded it with shaking fingers.
" To my son, Ethan —If you're reading this, then I didn't get the chance to tell you something important. "
The first line alone made Ethan's vision blur.
He wiped his eyes and kept reading.
" Your mother and I… we wanted to give you more than we ever had growing up. Not money, not status — but a place that belonged to us. A place where you could laugh, study, get annoyed at us, bring friends home, complain about chores… the normal things every kid should get to do. "
Ethan clenched the page.
His father's voice echoed in his mind — warm, calm, always steady.
" The house we bought… it was meant to be a surprise on your sixteenth birthday. We were so excited. Your mother kept imagining how you'd react. I wanted to fix the old workshop in the back for you. I knew you'd grow into someone who could build anything. "
Ethan covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.
He had never told them about his love for building things.Somehow… they had just known.
" Ethan, if we can't be there for you ourselves, then let this home be the next best thing. A place where you won't feel alone. A place that stands for everything we wished we could still give you. "
A tear hit the paper.
Another followed.
He tried to keep reading through blurry eyes.
" Please don't blame yourself. We loved you more than we ever loved the world. Nothing that happened was your fault. You were the best part of our lives — and you always will be. "
Ethan sucked in a breath, chest tight and burning.
He remembered the accident.The phone call.The silence that followed.The world that stopped.
He always wondered…If he could have done something.Stopped something.Prevented something.
But here, in his father's handwriting, was the truth he needed to hear.
"Live your life, son. Build something amazing. Be someone you can be proud of. Don't let grief steal your future — we wouldn't want that.
With all our love,Dad "
Ethan lowered the letter onto his lap.
For a long time, he didn't move.
He just sat there, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks, dripping onto the faded blanket beneath him. His breath came shaky, uneven. He didn't try to hold it in. Not today.
For the first time in months, he let himself mourn.Not the sharp, angry ache he usually buried — but something softer, deeper.Something like remembering.
He missed them.He missed them so much it hurt to breathe.
But for the first time… he felt something else too.
Warmth.
A fragile, flickering comfort.
They had planned for him.Thought about him.Loved him in the small, quiet ways that mattered most.
He wiped his face and read the letter again — slower this time, letting every word settle into him.
When he was finally done, he folded the letter gently, pressing it to his forehead.
"Thanks, Dad… I'll make something amazing. I promise."
He stood.
He wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
There was a house waiting for him.A home waiting for him.A future his parents wanted him to chase.
And Ethan Vale intended to honor that — every step of the way.